


The Passage

by Styfas



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Angel Wings, Dialogue Heavy, Gen, James being James but with more self-esteem issues than usual, James needs a hug, One Shot, Sir John is lovable, the bromance is strong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:48:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24870346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Styfas/pseuds/Styfas
Summary: Though not aboutthatPassage, this is about James Fitzjames' Passage to Heaven/The Afterlife, where Sir John is the first to welcome him.  James has questions, feels like a failure, and as such is subject to a heaping portion of Sir John's good-natured (and well-deserved) ribbing.  Besides which, Sir John needs to get James to Orientation on time!
Relationships: Commander James Fitzjames & Captain Sir John Franklin
Comments: 7
Kudos: 8





	The Passage

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the Most Excellent [Drac](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drac) for introducing me to The Terror in the first place, and for helping me out with a few things for this fic.
> 
> (However, this is technically unbeta'd. Hello, [vegetas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vegetas))!

The last person James sees on Earth is Francis. It’s Captain Francis Crozier who has just poured poison into James’ mouth, and is now massaging his neck to assist him in dying. James tries to smile, but his mouth will not cooperate. He is only able to sense the corners of his eyes crinkling, and he hopes that Francis can interpret this as his smile of deepest thanks. He can’t help but feel that he is failing Francis by dying, but then he looks into those kind, forgiving eyes and realizes that he can leave this life with a clear conscience.

Francis’ face finally blurs, fades, and disappears into black. 

Stillness.

Then, Light. Energy. Warmth.

James feels he is floating, perhaps flying. He looks downward, sees what he surmises to be The Passage, and desperately tries to will himself back down to Francis. If only he could let him know… 

…but James must continue his way through this passage of a different sort. It’s all light, and whiter than any snow or ice he has ever seen. He gives over to a new exhilaration. He feels invigorated. Healthy. He opens his shirt, and wonders if…

…and it’s true; his wounds are closed. He runs his hand along his hairline. No blood, no scabs. The skin is smooth. He assumes his left eye is back to normal, as well. If he ever finds a mirror, he’ll check. (Surely, there must be mirrors in Heaven)…

…and what of his shirt that he had just opened? How has he now suddenly become clothed in a white robe instead? He didn’t feel it happening…

He comes to a stop, as it were. At any rate, he is no longer floating – nor flying.

He sees a familiar form, albeit in a white robe, and with grand, pearlescent white wings. No brass-buttoned uniform and no epaulettes, but there is no mistaking that this form is Sir John Franklin, Captain of Erebus.

Sir John opens his arms wide. “Welcome, James!” He walks – yes, walks hurriedly on two legs – to him.

“Sir John! You’ve regained the use of your leg!”

Sir John’s laughter is a hearty explosion of mirth. “The leg entire!” He reaches across his body with his left hand, pulling the right side of his robe up to hip level, and smacks up and down the length his Heavenly right leg with his right hand. “And how is your famous wound, hmm?”

“Wounds.” 

“Yes, yes,” Sir John says, lowering his robe. “A single musket ball and three wounds. I should have remembered,” he teases, “considering how many times I’ve heard you recount the tale.” He chuckles. “How are they, then?” 

“Healed.”

Sir John smiles. “Yes, it is our Lord’s doing.”

“Do you see any blood in my left eye?”

“None whatsoever.” 

“My hairline seems to have been repaired, as well.” 

“All the better for the general appearance of your coiffure. I often imagined you to spend a good amount of time to arrange it just-so. Vanity?”

The word triggers James’ memory of his confession to Francis: _It’s all vanity. Always has been. And_ w _e are at the end of vanity_. He lowers his head with a quiet, “Hmm. Vanity.” 

“Why be melancholy? I was speaking of your appearance, James.” Sir John takes a deliberately audible breath. “However… I recently heard you speak of a different sort of vanity. Why did you never tell me?”

James raises his head. “What do you mean…You _heard…”_ He doesn’t know how it can be possible, so he must ask. “Were you somehow listening when Francis and I were going to the cairn?”

“The advantage of existing in the spiritual realm, as opposed to the physical. We may be nearby, and we may listen.”

“Then you know,” James says, his voice withering. “You know everything. How I was appointed to the expedition. And that I’m a fake.”

Sir John offers a gentle smile, and answers in a tone to match. “You have not been diminished in my eyes,” he says slowly. “Your valour and your deeds have always stood firm. Do try to remember that.”

James wants to hug Sir John for this reassurance, but he feels it may be inappropriate. He had never touched him in Life, save for a handshake or two, and he wonders if protocol could be loosened in this, the Afterlife. Sir John answers his unspoken question by first clapping his hands on James’ upper arms, and then pulling him close, patting his back numerous times, captain hugging commander.

As they ease out of the embrace, James is astonished to discover that tears are very real in the Afterlife. He turns away, pretending to look around further at his new Home. He surreptitiously wipes his cheeks with his fingertips, extending his gestures to nonchalantly smooth down errant waves of hair that had become tousled in his journey upwards.

He blinks hard several times and turns back to Sir John. A moment of silence, and then a soft sigh. “You know, you were right about Francis. That I should cherish him.”

A smug smile. “Yes.” 

“I cherish him now, more than ever,” James says wistfully. “I wish I could still be there with him.”

Sir John sniffs. “Do you not enjoy my company, James?”

“Of course. I only meant that Francis and I were just beginning to be friends. Brothers.”

Sir John interlaces his fingers and rests them on his formidable stomach. “We are all Brothers,” he says with an authoritative nod. “Some may have been known to display more arrogance than others on occasion, but nonetheless.”

James can’t help but succumb to an embarrassed chuckle. 

“For instance, a noble gesture it was to offer up your body to feed the men. But why you mentioned our Lord and Saviour, I know not.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“On your death bed, you said you weren’t Christ. Do you know where I am leading?”

James scrunches his eyebrows together. “Would you care to enlighten me?”

“In your next breath, you asked that your body be used to feed the men,” Sir John says. He raises his eyebrows. “To somehow be like Christ?” 

“Never,” James says, his eyes widening. “I didn’t mean anything sacrilegious by my remark. I promise it wasn’t my intention to connect the two.”

“No?” Sir John asks. “Hmm.” He pauses in thought, then shrugs. “Then I shall have to blame the scurvy.” 

James has nothing to say, but he feels certain that his facial expression holds nothing but confusion.

“Now, then. It would seem you are currently my second. And, as your commanding officer, it is my duty to escort you to Orientation. Afterwards, you may acquire your wings. There are no epaulettes up here, I’m afraid.” 

James eyes Sir John’s shimmering wings. “They’re beautiful.”

“Do you think so?” Sir John laughs and flaps his wings several times, gracefully drifting upwards and then back down, settling to a standstill. “I chose them myself. I’ll be quite interested to see what _you_ choose. I’d wager that glistening gold wings would be most becoming on you. The choice will be yours, of course. Shall we be on our way?” He leads James through the clouds. 

James takes a few steps, then stops still. “Are there other crew members here? From both ships? Have you seen them?”

“Yes. All who have perished are here, including those whom you may remember as troubled souls. Mr. Morfin, Mr. Collins, and Dr. Stanley come to mind.“

James winces at the mention of Dr. Stanley. “Carnivale,” he says in a rasp. “You left behind all that should have made it glorious, but it didn’t go as planned. I failed…”

“Nonsense. Come along.” Sir John strides forward several steps, then checks over his shoulder to see that James hasn’t moved. 

“And… the Creature,” James says. “Did you happen to see me fire the Congreve rockets? I thought for sure I would kill it, but…” 

Sir John turns to face him. “Really, James. This is not the time to dwell on what you would mistakenly interpret as your failures. You had no way of knowing Dr. Stanley’s state of mind. As for the Creature, well done in firing those rockets – but one cannot equate that Creature with the Chinese! How could _anyone_ know what would kill it? If your endeavor is to convince me that I should lower my opinion of you, regardless of my having already assured you otherwise, then by all means, consider _that_ as a failure – and revel in it.” He opens his arms wide, indicating the vastness around them, and speaks in a booming voice. ”Do you not see where you are, James? This is a time for celebration!”

Sir John resumes walking, and James hurries to catch up. They walk together silently until James stops again.

Sir John stops with a sigh. “What is it?” 

“On my way up here, I saw the Passage. Is there some way to let them know?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Provisions are low, and with less men to pull the sledges, I don’t know that anyone will survive.”

“There is always hope.” 

“But if there were some way that I could – or that _we_ could - “

Sir John raises his hand to cut James’ sentence short. “That is up to God. And Francis.”

James is unsuccessful in suppressing a chuckle. “Ah, God in one breath, and Francis in the next?”

“Surely not,” Sir John huffs. “Come. We’re almost there, and I don’t wish to take the responsibility for your being late.” He moves forward with haste, double-timing his previous pace.

James matches his strides until he stops at Sir John’s cue. They have reached an expansive structure; a shimmering pale blue and white palace, with tall double doors that are white as a seagull’s breast. 

“And here we are,” Sir John says. “My apologies for being short with you earlier, but we simply don’t have the time to talk at length. Not at present.”

“But you’ll have time for me after Orientation? Yes?” 

“I will _always_ have time for you,” Sir John says, his lifted cheeks gaining a hint of pink. “We will have All Eternity together. Do you think you can bear up?”

James nods, recognizing Sir John’s tone of mischief. “With pleasure. And if I should ask you the same?”

Sir John pulls a frown which is belied by the sparkle of his eyes. “I shall do my best.”

It is James who initiates the next hug. He steps boldly forward and wraps his arms around Sir John’s waist, the two dissolving into warm laughter. 

Upon catching his breath, Sir John withdraws from the hug and pats James’ shoulders. “Right. Now, off you go.” 

James slowly walks up the stairs and to the doors. He turns to face his captain. “Soon?” 

“I’ll be here, directly after. I look forward to seeing your wings! Glistening gold, perhaps?”

James smiles. “Perhaps.”

The doors swing open, and he walks inside. 


End file.
